Love and War
by Azhani
Summary: Andy thoght she had escaped. That now her new and bright future had finally come and tragedy been avoided. But she was wrong, and now the past has come to take its place and her life will never again be the same...
1. Chapter 1

**Love and War**

**Disclaimer:** The Devil Wears Prada (book,film, and anything else) are not mine. I just play with the characters a little bit.

The sound of an alarm broke the quietness of the small apartment in the lower east side of New York, gaining a groan as an answer from the lump in the king-seized bed.

Long black hair, that seamed almost blue, spilled in the white cotton sheets as the lump moved and extended a long sculptured arm and shut down the annoying piece of technology.

The sheets moved as the now easily recognized man turned on its back and brought a long fingered, and perfectly manicured hand to his face, to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Eyes of deep brown, almost black, blinked open and then widened in alarm as he looked at the very defined muscles of his chest and perfect six pack of his belly.

He lifted his large hands and looked at them as if for the first time, he gulped and his manly Adam's apple bobbled with the action, quickly raising a prayer to any god who may listen he lifted the sheet to look at what laid hiding...

* * *

_Chapter 1: A New Dawn._

Nate hurried his pace while trying to think about a possible explanation for his rumpled appearance and, more importantly, his absence from their home not only in this nice Sunday morning but for the entire night before.

His distraction made him slam into some unsuspected passerby and almost drop the McDonald's breakfast he carried as an act of forgiveness.

But he was already in front of his building entrance and his head was as empty as it had been the moment he awakened that morning in bed naked...

Holding a equally naked Lily in his arms and realizing that:

1-He was not home.

2-Lily really fit nicely in his arms, and had very nice curves, and her hair felt equally as nice as it brushed his face...

3-He was screwed, no pun intended.

So, inhaling a big gulp of air and exhaling slowly, he pushed open the entrance doors and started his climb up the stairs to a painful execution and eviction or, at the very least, a colossal fight and a messy tearful breakup.

He never meant to make her harm but the truth was going to cost him his three year relationship with Andy.

Halfway up the stairs he heard a man scream- _Fuck!-_ , and he broke into a run.

"Fuck!"- came the panicked scream in a deep voice that confirmed the painful realization that _his _life was going to take another nasty turn.

Raising from the bed and gathering the sheet's to cover his new -_really_-not-so-little pal, the man started for the bathroom only to find that his equilibrium seamed to have abandoned him, as other even more importantly things had left him that morning as well.

"Whoa! I'm really tall!" -and at 1, 93 meters high he definitely was.

Once he regained his balance, he entered the bathroom and looked at his face.

"Well, aren't I a handsome devil" -and, again, he was right. With finely sculptured black eyebrows, strong jaw, crimson lips, patrician nose and perfect bone structure he looked angelic, his long hair and eyes contrasted with his light colored skin made him look like the fallen angel himself.

In fact, he remembered a comic book of Mayu Shinjo called _Virgin Crisis,_ where the artist had retreated the Devil in all his glory and looked like a comic version of the face that looked back at him from the mirror.

"At least I don't have wings" -he chuckled darkly.

"No, but you are going to wish you had them!" -came the growled response.

Sharply turning around the naked man saw a red faced Nate blocking the entrance to the bathroom and ready to pounce.

"Who the fuck are you? Where's Andy? -screamed Nate, before he shoved the taller man against the sink.

"I don't know where she is! Work maybe?" -he answered panicked.

"In a Sunday?" -screamed an enraged Nate to his face.

The mention of the day Sunday, clicked something in the naked man's head.

The memory of spending the entire night before worried sick about the whereabouts and safety of the person that was now threatening him and spiting accusations about Andy to his face.

Panic turned to righteous fury, and the prey became the hunter.

In a sudden move the naked man took a fistful of a rumpled t-shirt of his would be attacker, lifted him from the floor with ease with one arm and violently flung Nate out of the bathroom.

Thing's where going to hell.

* * *

The wind was knocked out of his lungs and before he could even attempt to sit up a foot in his chest pinned him right back to the floor where he had fallen.

When he lifted his eyes, Nate got an image that seamed almost ridiculous, yet surprisingly made him quiver in fear.

The naked "intruder" had him pinned to the floor, foot firmly planted in his chest, face a mask of profound fury twisting the features in a frightening way.

He seamed huge.

Why Nate didn't notice before exactly how tall and big he was he only attributed to his bout of mad jealously.

He figured the man to be at least a head taller than him, his body was finely sculptured (like that statue that Lily always fawned over, the "David"), this "David" had the body of an athlete, a swimmer he thought.

But it was his eyes that had him trembling in soul-shattering panic, his eyes that should be a brown-black were now an estrange mix of very pale violet and white with what seemed like lightning crossing them and giving him the image of a mythical god.

A very pissed one at that.

The storm had started and had Nate as it sole focus and victim.

His musings where cut short when the naked man applied pressure on his chest.

An embarrassing cross between an squeak and a crock stole from him.

"Where were you last night?"- came the low rumble.

Nate, too frightened or too stupid to respond said nothing.

His mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

The storm in the god-like man intensified.

His eyes narrowed...

His face came closer...

"Where were you?"- snarled the now enraged man.

"At a friends!"- came the pitiful response, fear clouding the trapped victim and making him answer readily without questioning how his attacker knew he was gone the night before or why he cared.

The eyes of the tall man darkened, seemingly returning to its previous normal tint.

"A friends?- he softly asked, a finely sculpted dark eyebrow lifting.

"YES! Yes, a friends!"- rambled Nate relieved at seeing an exit.

The foot lifted and Nate breathed easily once again, quickly siting up and retreating from the crazy man who crossed his long powerful arms over a broad naked chest.

"So let me see if I get this straight"- the god-like man said while never lifting the eyes from his victim.

"I...-Andy- spends the whole night in an state of fear and dread because you where not home..."-he stalked closer to a cowering Nate.

"...her head coming up with one terrible scenario after another..."-goosebumps raised in Nate's arms.

"...and all the time you where perfectly safe AT A FRIENDS!"- roared the naked man, lightening dancing in his eyes once again.

"I lost track of time okay?"- tried Nate to placate.

"I bet you lost your cell as well didn't you?"- questioned sarcastic the assailant.

"YES! Yes I did!" nodded Nate, his fear now out of control.

"And you lost one condom as well didn't you?"- came the question in the same tone of voice.

"YES! That's...right?"- was the last thing Nate said before a fist connected with his face and dropping cold to the floor...

* * *

Huddled in a corner of "Dean's dinner and breakfast" with a cup of coffee warming his hands, the beautiful dark haired _man_ contemplated the epic mess _he_ had gotten himself into.

1-_He_ had no job, house or clothes and carried very little money.

2-Nate had cheated and the relationship was now in ruins.

3-Doug and Lily (with whom _he_ suspected the ex-boyfriend had spent the night) where useless because they did not know _him._

4-_He_ was a _man_.

Taking a sip of coffee, _he_ smiled pleasantly to the waitress who gave him -another- free sweet roll and one more lustful look.

"At least I will not starve" -_he_ mumbled to himself.

"Did you say something sweetheart?" -she purred in _his_ ear while -not so- subtly pressing her ample chest to _his_ arm and refilling the empty cup, the heady smell of her scent and the feel of her body and heat making _his _manhood twitch.

_Is it so bad if I just give in?- he_ tough while fighting the urge to respond to the blatant flirting and shaking the head in the negative.

_Better to remove the temptation-he _voiced in_ his _head while completely absorbed by the hypnotic move of her shapely backside.

The sound of the opening of Final Fantasy VIII came from _his_ pants and a tearfully "Mom!" was all _he _said.

"Andy! You better present "her" to me before you get her pregnant!"- exclaimed joyfully on the other side of the line an amused and brightly eyed Helen Sachs.

And with a groan the dark Adonis, formerly know as Andrea Alexandra -Andy- Sachs, covered his face as an indignant -Mother!- was heard in "Dean's dinner and breakfast".


	2. Chapter 2: The curse

**Love and War**

**Pairing:** Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda

**Disclaimer: **The devil wears Prada is not mine and shall remain forever not mine, I am just playing a little with some of its characters. :P

**A/N:** First of all thanks for the reviews this is the first time i post an story, and the first as well to write something in English which is not my native language so I'm happy it could at least be understood . I also warn the readers ( if they are generous and grant me their time once again) to expect a change in this second chapter and to please have this in mind before reading it: the Greek goods portrayed here are the real thing as they appear in the various myths and books like the Iliad and the Aeneid. I say this because many people has this really bad idea of what they were form TV shows and the like. The gods here are as dark and terrible as they are supposed to be and ill strive to keep them that way.

* * *

_**Curse:**_

_An appeal or prayer for evil or misfortune to befall someone or something._

_The evil or misfortune that comes in or as if in response to such an appeal._

_One that is accursed._

_A source or cause of evil, a scourge._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Two: _The curse._**

Curse.

Such an small and simple word and yet one that has a profound evil and esoteric origin.

A humble little word that could define the strange "gift" of the Darkwings family.

The same family that Andrea Alexandra Sachs belonged from her mothers side.

The word curse would be perfect for the phenomenon if not for one little detail.

This curse gave many, many gifts to those it touched,the greatest of all life itself.

And love.

True love.

In order to understand we should travel back thousands of years; to the times of the fall of Greece to the powerful Rome.

To a soldier bleeding to death in the remnants of the once proud city of Corinth.

Andreacus of Sparta.

A brilliant, cruel and fearsome strategos (*1 see notes at the end of the chapter).

His mother had been a noble woman, named Climene, visited by an stranger in the visage of her husband that laid dieing thousands of leagues away. An stranger called Ares, the god of war.

So in the eve of the fall of Greece to the ever expanding Roman Empire, the last son of the dark god laid dieing in the battlefield.

And was granted the "gift".

Andreacus died and Andreacis, daughter of Climene of Sparta, was born.

Thus the story of the Darkwings started.

An story of how the family became the last breath of life for Ares.

Because once Greece, bastion of the Olympians fell, so did the gods that nurtured it's soil and people.

The god of war knew this and had looked for a way to keep living and at the same time maintain his influence in the human world.

He found the answer in the bleeding and dieing form of his last living heir.

Holding the broken form of a fading Andreacus, Ares called desperately to four goddesses to aid him.

Aphrodite, goddess of love.

And the Moira. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. The three goddesses of fate.

False tears fell from down the bronzed cheeks of Ares, as he claimed for the life of Andreacus and exposed a solution.

Make his son a part of him and him a part of his son.

The Moira objected. "_The life thread must be cut down, so we have foretold."_

"_Turn him into someone else then!"- _exclaimed Ares_- "change his nature and give him a new life!"_

"_His soul mate is a woman, thus it is impossible for him to change into one as well."-_ replied unmoving the three goddesses.

"_Then give him the ability to change back to a man in order to keep alive his line."-_Exposed victorious Ares.

"_We need the consent of more than one Olympian"_

"_Aphrodite! Help me save my child!"-_implored the dark god_._

"_I agree..."-_came the soft whisper of the goddess of love.

The gift was granted.

Andreacus life and life thread was cut down.

In his place Andreacis was made.

The gift remained even after Rome had taken over Greece and the Olympians fell.

A permanent established conduit between Ares and some of his female heirs.

Female heirs whose soul mates where women and with whom they naturally could not breed.

So, did Ares kept living in the form of Andreacis, a form that took the power of the god to do his deeds in the human world.

The scourge of war never left mankind from that day.

But all darkness has it's moments of light.

Aphrodite was that light.

Her daughter was Megara, wife of Andreacus/Andreacis.

* * *

Time passed.

Andreacis dark days where coming to an end and another life was being born to take its place

The god of war became distracted rejoicing in the pain of fighting humans, bathing himself in their blood and tears...

So Aphrodite took her chance to prevent a new tragedy to befall her newborn grandchild.

For Megara had committed the most terrible crime a mother could make...

She had murdered all her children to save the world from the darkness of Ares.

To end all wars.

Aphrodite knew this, so she presented herself to a heaving and pained Megara to prevent the death of the baby.

Megara felt the passing of Andreacis and in the eve of that fateful day, with a face twisted in unlimited sorrow and guilt, she poised the tip of her dagger in the blood tinted small chest of her crying daughter.

Time stood still.

The mother elevated a prayer to the gods and prepared herself to end the life of her last child.

But the silent gods answered her prayer.

An ivory hand grasped her wrist firmly and the voice of the goddess of love gave her hope.

"_Stop daughter of mine! There is no more need for death in this dark day. Andreacis is dead and Ares too distracted by the joyless fruit of his works!"_

"Then let me end the tainted life of my child so I can find the peace of death myself and suffer no more!"- cried desperately the young widow.

Aphrodite reached a delicate hand and cleaned the tortured face of her daughter, her own eyes filled with tears of guilt and love.

"_No more tears and pain little one, only love. Love and happiness for you and this life that you want to end"_

"_I came to make you a pact and change with it a hopeless situation. I am here to grant my grandchild a gift of love; to give her heart powerful wings to soar free and leave behind the darkness threatening to claim her soul, and find the light of her soul mate."_

"_From this day on, Ares gift of darkness is sealed, and it will continue in that manner until your daughter finds her intended." _

"_Then and only then, will darkness and its gifts awaken." _

"_But fear not, because this wings – dark wing's at that- will give haste to her heart and she will chase after her destined one with the fierceness of a warrior."_

"_Yet, head this warning that I make to you and your heirs." _

"_If they fail in conquering the love of their soul mates, so will then darkness conquer them and the world thereafter..."_

And so did start the war between love and war and the history of the Darkwings...

* * *

**After Notes:**

*1_ Strategos: ancient military Greek term for a general/leader/politician.


	3. Chapter 3: Memories and warriors

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/various, Andrea/Miranda

**Disclaimer: **The Devil Wears Prada is not mine (book, movie, etc) im just borrowing their characters to play a bit. :)

**A/N:** Hello to anyone who is still reading this little piece of nothing. I'm going to assume I still have readers. But it will be nice if you tell me you like how is it going or not, so please review *puts puppy eyes* :P Spanish translation in _(italics)_

**Chapter Three: **_Memories and warriors._

_

* * *

_

Peeking hesitantly into the dark apartment and seeing no one there, Andrew Alexander Darkwings formerly know as Andrea Alexandra Sachs, quietly entered inside while trying desperately to not spill the many boxes and bags of the last shopping spree.

Shopping clothes and accessories for the new body had been an adventure.

He drooped his cargo in the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

The entire day had been the most bizarre experience of his short life.

Closing his eyes and sighing softly , he recalled the conversation with his mother...

* * *

"No mother! I don't even know who she is! So you'll have to wait for the introductions! Hell; before today I had absolutely no idea that this was going to happen!"

"..."

"I'm sorry"-he said while trying to rub away the oncoming headache- "I know its not your fault..."

"..."

"Grandpa knew?"-he clenched his teeth and his eyes started to fill with anger- "How could he..."

"..."

"Yes, I know he had the gift! But that does not explain..."

"..."

"All right, ill wait for the records."-he conceded defeated while letting out a sigh of pure exhaustion.

"..."

"Money? Grandpa left me money? But he hated my guts!"

"..."

Rolling his eyes and too exhausted by the conversation with his mother he resigned himself to his fate.

"No, I don't understand anything, but I am sure it'll make sense in time. In a long time."

Alex drooped his phone in the table and slumped in his chair, suddenly tired beyond belief.

"Some warrior I am"- he snorted to himself gaining amused looks from a group of college boys.

"What the fuck are you looking at?- he growled furious making the patrons pale in fear.

Feeling the panic and disapproval of the people around him and exasperated with himself for his lack of control, he stood up and left the place as if the hounds of hell where at his heels.

_There is only one way to make this day better- _he thought while fishing for his wallet, images of a brand new wardrobe dancing in his mind...

* * *

_At least I have clothes now-_ he chuckled weakly while casting a look at the pile of bags taking space in the bedroom.

A sigh escaped him.

His grandfather had known this was going to happen.

Alex didn't want to think how, but if he was honest it did not surprise him that much.

Grandpa Alexis Daniel Darkwings, also know as Alexia Danielle Darkwings, knew many things.

Things and secrets of their family that only he knew of.

Alex remembered the day when he had meet Alexis for the first time...

* * *

20 years ago (Andrea, age 7)

_She had been playing with a family of kitty's and their white mother when the big dog -a black and fire brown doberman- had appeared and chased the family away._

_All but the mother who, driven by her maternal instincts, had not left the place and was in an stand off with the growling dog._

_In desperation, Andy had graved a dried branch of a dead rosebush and, ignoring the thorns that slashed open her tender hands, prepared herself to attack the doberman to defend her new friend._

_But an amused and stern voice had her stop dead in her tracks._

"_I would not do that if I where you"- said the voice of an older man who then gave a sharp whistle calling the dog to him._

_Andy had turned then and saw the owner of the voice for the first time._

_It was indeed an older man close to his fifty, she had guessed. His hair was black and cut short, some pepper adorning his temples giving him a dignified air. He was impeccably dressed in a starched white shirt with the top button undone, and a pair of neatly pressed black slacks._

_But it was his eyes she will always remember the most in the coming years._

_His black bottomless eyes and the instant feelings of anger and even rage that they awakened in her young heart._

_The shining shotgun, loosely grasped in his right hand, had only elevated the screams of her now wildly beating young heart._

"_Enemy!"-and-"Danger!" resonated with a clarity and strength that made her own eyes darken..._

_Her jaw clench..._

_...and her grip in her improvised weapon tighten._

_His eyes became bright._

_An amused and somewhat proud smile blossomed in his handsome face._

_Then tilted his face and spoke to her once again._

"_Are you going to attack me little one?"-mocked him._

_The sound of his amused and dangerous voice had her moving in front of the mother of the cats._

_Her move made him react and in an almost bored fashion he single handily lifted the shotgun aiming it at her._

"_The cats are a plague that has to end. So move now like the good little girl you are." -he said softly, his weapon never wavering._

_Yet, she did nothing but widening her stance and grasping her own weapon with increased strength. The thorns sinking deep in her hands and the bleeding worsening..._

"_Move!" - he screamed furiously, his face an angry red._

"_Move or die!"_

"_Go to hell!"- was her own enraged scream._

_Their eyes locked together in a battle of wills, and ended when the man suddenly broke in a fit of laughter so strong that doubled him over. _

_Indignation inflamed Andy's heart filling her with even more rage at being perceived as weak._

_He approached her with steady steps. Andy, feeling threatened by his closeness, attacked the old man, her weapon getting trapped in his big left hand opening wounds there and making his own blood join with hers._

_He never flinched, only tilted his head looking like a curious wolf contemplating something that intrigued it._

"_Are you my enemy little warrior?"- came his soft voice again. This time filled with calm steel, challenge and profound respect._

_

* * *

_

"Respect"- sighed Alex softly to himself, his voice almost a carbon copy of that of his grandfather.

That was the base of their so called relationship. One that was plagued by intense feelings of anger, mistrust, competitiveness, hate and many others.

But never love.

Respect, yes.

Love, never.

Yet, that was still a powerful feeling for the two of them.

_We never respected anyone, not really. Not even our parents. Warriors rarely did._

_But, we respected each other, because we were the same- _Alex understood now.

And there was one other who was also the recipient of the two warriors respect.

The one guilty for this gift/curse.

Their soul mates.

"Not that her is going to be of much use to me now" -he darkly chuckled to himself abandoning the comfort of the bed and starting to arrange his new wardrobe. All the time forcing himself not to think about the very real possibility of his ending.

"Not use at all..."


	4. Chapter 4: the race of a lifetime

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda

**Disclaimer: **The Devil Wears Prada is not mine, and I am only borrowing some of its characters for a short time. Alfonso Jose de las Casas and aunt Mary Ann, on the other way are all mine, so hands off! hehehe

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to thoushal for being the first to give me a review. Thank you :D

It has also come to my attention that I did not put a time frame for this fiction. So if anyone was wondering this story starts the day after Andy gets the job on the Mirror and see's Miranda across the street( the last scene in the movie)

On a side note I want to make clear that I am not, in any way, insulting the Latin community( I am Argentinian and it would be like insulting myself lol) or the United States of America (which is also mentioned here), I am just making a little harmless joke:P

Spanish translation in (_italics)_.

* * *

**Chapter Four: **_A bad week._

_One week after the transformation..._

The blaring sound of what tried to pass as music, combined with the stale smell of cigarettes, sweat and god's knew what else was slowly cutting in the already short patience of the foreboding dark man in the back of the small yellow cab, and making him even more frightening.

Quickly averting his eyes, Alfonso Jose de las Casas, crossed himself and elevated -yet another- quick prayer to the _Virgen de Guadalupe,_ patron of stupid Latin men who think the United States of America was the promised land...

How right was his mother, Alfonso thought to himself, eying in an almost panic the blocked bridge in front of him.

"How much longer?" -came the low threatening growl from the back of his cab, making him almost jump and his dark skin pale even further.

"No lo sé señor" (_I don't know sir)-_was his voice trembling?- "Parece que hubo un accidente asi que puede tardar un rato largo"(_ It looks like there was an accident so it could take a while longer) – _he finished almost chocking in terror, never realizing he had reverted to his native language, or how the man in the back understood him.

A short curse left his dark passenger- who Alfonso could swear was the Diablo (_ Devil) _or at least one of it's minions- and then the man directed his sharp dark eyes to the cabbie.

"Wait here!" - his passenger ordered firmly, and Alfonso swore to himself that he was going to do just that, not wanting that anger to be -ever!- directed at him.

Once the men was some five meters away, striding powerfully to the center of the chaos, Alfonso prayed once again...

"Que la virgen santísima te proteja! Pobre alma infortunada!" (_That the saint virgin protects you! Poor unfortunate soul!) - _he said with feeling for the sake of the person or person's responsible for the blockade on the bridge.

"O que te deje morir rápidamente y sin sufrimiento!" (_Or that it lets you die swiftly and without suffering!)-_ended up his prayer Alfonso in a fatalistic way.

* * *

To say that Andrew Alexander Darkwings was pissed, was an understatement.

He was, in fact, quite livid.

His week had been hellish to say the least.

Monday had started with a rainy day and had made looking for an apartment a trying experience.

Then came the unavoidable lunch with aunt Mary Ann who, after gushing over him as if he was five, had proceed to drive him insane with never ending chatter for more than half an hour and only relinquishing his papers ( birth certificate, passport, college titles, etc) after Alex had made the promise to meet again...

Oh joy.

Tuesday had started better...

If not for the hellish hangover, and the screaming man who had chased him away from the warm embrace of its twin daughters...

He was still trying to process the fact that he had bedded not one, but two women -sisters at that- and lost his manly virginity at the process...

Wednesday saw him returning to a very empty apartment...

Fucking Nate!

Except for his expensive new clothes, and a dismissal for one Andrea Alexandra Sachs from the New York Mirror...

Thursday started with a job hunt with no success...

And ended up with him taking several showers to get rid of the disturbing feeling of the dirty old women who had touched him in a most repulsive way in exchange for said jobs...

Friday, and still unemployed, he had been roused from bed at eight of the night by an indignant Lilian.

Lily for her friends who did not include him...

An encounter that had the nefarious consequences listed bellow:

1- Thinking him a burglar she tried to attack him.

2-After subdue her and dragging her inside, sweet Lilian tried to attack him again thinking him now a rapist.

3-He quickly explained he was a cousin of Andy's and was taking care of the apartment in her absence... To what she responded with incredulity. And saw him listening her little speech about how Andy was an inconsiderate friend and a whore who had cheated on poor Nate with him...

4-Tired and angry, he silenced the little traitor with a hard kiss that ended up with him pounding her all night long (take that Nate! You pathetic, whiny excuse for a man!)

5-He had to endure her bitching for leaving early and not telling her where...

And was that a hickey in her neck?

To which he responded with a sugary smile and a well deserved: get the hell out of my bed, apartment and life!

That take us to the present day. Saturday.

With a sunny morning without luck in the job front.

A long lunch with aunt Mary Ann that had proved to be no less enjoyable than the last.

And now this congestion that was going to make him late returning home and missing the package that was bringing the things her mother had sent him.

UN-fucking-believable.

Someone was going to hurt today.

Not a second after that thought crossed his mind he felt his heart contracting painfully and a sizzling burn in the skin on the left side of his chest and back.

Right above his heart.

Darkness consumed him...

Dizziness saw him wavering on his feet, and he closed tightly his almost completely black eyes waiting for the episode to pass...

Then all was gone.

The pain and darkness leaving him just as quickly as they had come and a feeling of lightness encompassed him.

The shadow in his soul lightened and when he opened his eyes they where the same clear chocolate brown of his female form.

His heart gave an unexpected sharp tug and a feeling of panic swept over him and Alex started to run...

Run to the person that had gifted wings to their heart.

Run to the one that was responsible for this gift/curse that had fallen upon them.

Run to the woman that was the reason for their very existence.

Run to their soul mate.

Their soul mate that now needed them.

So they ran the race of their life...

**Note:** In the end of this chapter I speak in plural because I refer to both Andrea and Alex (who had started to become different personalities)


	5. Chapter 5: Hit to immortality

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda

**Disclaimer: **The Devil Wears Prada is not mine, and I am only borrowing some of its characters for a short time.

Officer Henry Carmichael, Judge Marcus Daniel Hastings, Morgan Frederic Spinner and Arthur Renald Hastings are mine on the other way.

**A/N:** Hello again dear readers! Let me say first a very big thank you for the reviews and kind words of encouragement! *bows respectfully*

This chapter is an amalgam of new and old, because after re-reading what I had for this chapter I noticed it was not up to par (I have almost 7 chapters in paper waiting to be tipped up, including the ending that will remain a mystery he he he).

It was also brought to my attention that you all miss Miranda (thank you Maude for bringing this up! :D) so I had to remake the entire thing.

After all...

I cant continue to move at a glacial pace can I? :P

* * *

Witnesses would had told you that all they saw was a big black blur moving at incredible speed towards the accident's area.

Some would add that the blur had passed not between the cars but jumping over its roofs.

Officer Henry Carmichael would tell you that "that damn black thing" had slammed against him with the strength of an oncoming truck, trowing him painfully on the floor. From which he saw that the thing was not a thing at all, but a young black haired white man impeccably dressed in neatly pressed black slacks, a silk shirt of dark blue and an stylish black coat.

How he saw the young man quickly tie a rope around his waist(that Carmichael did not for the life of him where the guy got it) and, securing the other end to a steel-beam nearby, dived right over the bridge to the silver Mercedes that was barely hanging by its front bump.

The stunned officer and all the rescue men present there will tell you how the dark young man had with one hand wrenched open the twisted left back door and taken from within a passed out middle aged woman.

But Andrew Alexander Darkwings would tell you that he did not remember running, jump over car roofs, slam against people or dive from bridges.

Even less where he had gotten the rope.

He could only tell you that his bad week- and entire life- had gotten irrevocably better the moment he held her in his arms for the first time, his face buried in white gossamer short hair...

* * *

**Chapter Five: **Hit to immortality.

Alex observed with apprehension, and a healthy dose of deja vu, the thick line of trees that threatened to swallow up the dirt road they had been traveling for the past twenty five minutes.

_Where in tartarus was the old man taking him?_

That was the question that ran over and over again in his mind.

Alex still could not understand how the day had ended up with him in the middle of nowhere, with a man that called himself his uncle and that he had never before this day know.

Life had started to become one big cosmic joke.

Tired and stressed Alex closed his clear brown eyes and let the motion of the car and the memory of _her _lull himto sleep...

* * *

_Early that day_

Small.

She felt so small and fragile in their arms.

They could barely believe how such an imposing -larger than life- woman could feel so small.

But she was.

This fact made them feel both fierce protectiveness...

_...and contempt.- _whispered the shadow that lived in them.

_Our mate should be strong- _it sneered.

_Always strong! Not weak and pathetic like this!- _hissed the shadow.

_She is human!-_disagreed Andy/Alex

_She has the right to be weak!- _they screamed fierce unison.

But the shadow only snorted at the thought, not satisfied with the explanation.

Then they felt her gripping their waist and whimper in both pain and fear.

And the warmness of her embrace dispelled the shadow from their heart, like spring melts the ice of a long suffering winter.

An overwhelming love infused their very soul and they surrendered to their need for closeness, burring their face on her neck.

_Home- _whispered their voice full of wonder...

"Sir are you alright!"- screamed one of the firefighters on the bridge that Alex was, still, hanging from.

"Yes but she is unconscious!"-he replied while firming his grip on Miranda, and noticing her head was bleeding.

"Is the rope holding? Can you hold her while we pull you up or do you need for us to come down?"

"The rope is fine and I can hold her! Just pull me up I wont let her go!"

"Okey we are pulling you up! But if you get tired or anything you let us know and we will come right down! Do you understand me?"- told him the firefighter while testing the bindings.

"Yes i understand! Just pull us up already she is bleeding!"- Alex replied exasperated, fear for Miranda clouding his mind.

Denis A. Johnson exchanged an amused look with the other firefighters and rescue personnel before saying in an amused filled voice.

"Feisty one isn't he?"

Loud relieved laughter was all the answer they gave to Denis A. Johnson before starting to pull up the victim and his savior.

"I wonder where he got the rope?"- Johnson mumbled softly to himself...

* * *

Alex cursed for what felt the thousand time that day while he dried quickly his long hair and changed in clean clothes.

He had been forced out of the hospital. The doctors forbade him access to Miranda until he went home for a shower and clean clothes, since Alex had been covered by her blood.

So he had left under threat of being escorted out by security and banned form entering the hospital.

He was putting on a new shirt, distracted by his new acquired tattoo of folded black wings on his chest -another anomaly in a long succession- when someone started pounding on his door.

With a new curse he marched over and wrenched open the door, thoughts of pounding to a pulp the idiot who was bothering him...

And came face to face with an enraged older man who promptly pushed his way inside.

"What the fuck were you thinking boy?- screamed his red faced intruder.

Startled, Alex just stood there with a confused look upon his face.

"I got a call from one of my people informing me that the police was looking for my nephew! So let me ask you again what in hell were you thinking hitting a member of the press?"

"Nephew?" -he asked too overwhelmed by the revelation and the fact that now he had the police after him.

"YES! That's me, Judge Marcus Daniel Hastings. I was the older brother of your grandaddy. Did you not receive the documents from your mother?"- replied gruffly the old man while fishing up a cigar and sitting on the couch to smoke.

Alex looked at a pile of boxes with the logo of FedEx standing untouched by his door.

After escaping the press and hitting one of the vultures, he had been saved by his new personal cabbie- Alfonso-

He had then ordered the Latin man to take him to FedEx, where he had proceed to storm the place and demand they gave him his mother's delivery at once. Frightened beyond measure the employees had complied immediately and that was how the boxes ended up there.

"Boy I don't know what is going on in your life, and frankly I don't give a fuck!"-his uncle said while standing up and marching to the door- "But you are coming with me so we can fix this mess you did. Alright?"- and with that the judge opened the door and waited for Alex to follow.

With a sigh that came from the deepest part of his soul Andrew Alexander Darkwings followed this stranger that called himself his uncle, all the time thinking only one thing.

_I am sorry Miranda._

_

* * *

_

Miranda Priestly was a person that never gave much importance to dreams.

They where, in her opinion, an unimportant collection of images and sounds made by one's brain in it's free time.

Miranda Priestly did not have free time.

She abhorred the idea of it.

So she would have paid no mind to the last pitiful recollection of her idle brain, if extraordinaire circumstances had not come to be.

Like the fact that her dream had not come after fallen peacefully, or exhausted as it was lately, in her bed at night.

No.

This dreams came from a contusion provoked by a serious accident in the middle of Queensboro Bridge.

This "silly recollections" where in fact flashes that she had retained of a very real experience.

And lets not forget that her rescuer had vanished from the face of the earth after leaving the hospital...

A sinister and gloating smile crossed her face...

...and bashing the face of a paparazzi with his own camera.

Her savior.

Who had come from nowhere.

Jumped a bridge after a most spectacular sprint.

Wrenched single handed a door that had become a twisted mess...

...and took her in his arms bare moments before the car plummeted to the river and became her grave.

It seemed something that came from those pathetic attempts of entertainment that Steven had loved called "action movies".

She shivered in disgust at the idea of those "movies"...and her ex-husband.

Closing her eyes the images and sensations quickly took her back to the beginning of the early afternoon...

_She had been on the phone with Irv, who was complaining about a dismissed model, that she knew was his latest conquest. When the car gave an unexpected jerk to the right making her head hit hard with the window and black out._

_Next thing she knew was a strange feeling of weightless and warmth._

_The warmth of a pair of strong arms that held her tightly to the solid body of a man._

_The sound of a powerful heart against her right ear, sending hers in a wild staccato and rapid puffs of hot air that moved her hair._

_Then the pain came and she let herself be swept away by oblivion, knowing that she was safe._

She did not remember much after that.

When she woke up again the first thing she saw was the anxious faces of her girls.

Frantic kisses, hugs and reassurance that: yes, she was alright, and no, she was not going to die, calmed her children down enough for her to listen to Jeremy and find out what had transpired.

With an still frightened face Jeremy had explained her accident and rescue and turned on the TV when she demanded to see.

There, in front of her disbelieving eyes, she saw her car being extracted from the river...

Utterly destroyed.

Fear cursed through her veins and she closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears.

That had been her "hit to immortality".

It was something her teacher of philosophy had told them happened to most humans.

"_We believe we are untouchable, invincible... immortal. _

_Until death comes and bring us to our knees..._

_That, is the hit to immortality."_

A warm callused hand came to rest over hers and she saw the caring eyes of her ex husband and best friend.

_After all this years you still maintain you passion for carpentry- _she thought returning his smile and being startled by the laughter of her babies.

Her breath left her.

Miranda, as the rightful fashion queen, had always surrounded herself by the most beautiful people in the world.

But the young dark man in the screen was something else.

He was otherworldly beautiful.

_Inhumanly so- _she admitted, disturbed by him for some reason.

_And familiar...-_she noted with a frown.

The news showed him descending the steps.

His bearing that of an arrogant god forced to walk among pitiful mortals, anger clear on his face...

Then the camera seemed to get too close and his head turned sharply in its direction...

His eyes darkening to almost black...

Then his left hand shoot to the lens, obscuring the vision and a growled out -_Fuck off!- _was herd, followed shortly by a crunching sound...

Like that of flesh and bones broken in a collision with more than 10 pounds of video equipment

...and the scream of pain of the victim.

No more recordings where showed by the news people, that complained mighty about the "vicious assault to their stemmed colleague" and spoke of the decision of the Editor of the Post to sue.

Miranda instantly decided that she was gladly going to pay for any legal repercussions to the little stunt of the young man. Her lawyers had too much time lately.

After all...

She hated idle people.

* * *

**After Notes:** my god was that long and difficult to write! T_T

Ok, first of all this _italics _has a very special meaning and no its not the warrior talking, but the shadow or in other words Ares. He is going to appear more and more to try and conquer the soul of Andy/Alex.

Second the "hit of immortality" is actually real. Its something my philosophy teacher spoke off that I never forgot. He used almost the exact same words to explain how he had changed his life after a heart attack had put him face to face with his mortality.

I hope you all enjoy this and review, and if you don't like it still review just so I know and maybe can make it better next time.

That's all!


	6. Chapter 6: The beast and the warrior

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda.

**Disclaimer: **The devil Wears Prada (movie and book) is not mine i just play a little with some of its characters. Judge Marcus Daniel Hastings and Arthur Renald Hastings belong to me.

**A/N: **Hello! Two things : 1- I'm sorry for the delay.

2- And thank you for the reviews! This chapter will have some violence and death so if that disturbs anyone please don't read.

Lastly, this chapter is dedicated to all of those that love myths as much as I do. Enjoy!

"We are here"

The words waked him and he opened his eyes to a sight that stole his very breadth.

They were traversing in a natural tunnel made of trees.

On each side of the road and facing each other were massive Greek statues five meters tall looking down at the travelers.

Each was different.

Some wore robes, others sported spears, swords, helmets and shields.

Men and women, all beautifully perfect.

He turned around to take a glimpse of the ones they had already passed and saw that the first two were at least a meter higher than the rest and facing the gates, as if they were ancient sentinels to a magical land.

Then realization dawned on him.

"The Olympian Gods..."- he whispered in awe taking one last glimpse at the ones they had passed.

He could not see the first set but he guessed they were Hera on the left and Zeus on the right.

Behind Zeus came Athena, Dionysus, Poseidon and Apollo.

On Hera's side where Hermes, Hephaestus, Hades and Artemis.

At the end stood the last pair, as big as the first and facing front as well.

Aphrodite on the right, with a dress and circlet made in gold...

...and Ares on the left, with a shield and helmet of polished silver.

The road of the gods stretched for two miles and then they came out of the tunnel of trees spilling unto a hill.

It was from there that the titanic size and beauty of the land they where in made itself know.

Miles upon miles of tick forests and green prairies.

An impossible clear lake on the west and snow-peaked mountains to the north and east marked its natural frontiers.

Here and there the pure white of buildings scattered trough the land could be seen, one sitting proudly in the middle of the island on the lake.

And sitting in all its glory, with the mountains as its backdrop and on top of thirty two meters high falls, stood a magnificent palace of the purest white.

"Where are we?"-he whispered in a awe filled voice.

The old man turned briefly a look at him and said in a gruff voice.

"Olympian Manor or as some call it The Land of the Gods"

"Land of the gods?"- he asked incredulously.

"Yes, that's the name and believe me its very appropriate since this place holds twelve main temples and other smaller shrines."

With that his uncle started to point each of the twelve main temples.

To the east and closest to them, was the temple of Hades god of the dead, which seated on top of a subterranean cave.

On the green plains sitting majestically on the east was the golden temple of Apollo the god of the sun.

On the the far back and almost hidden from view was the temple of Hephaestus the god of the forge.

The tick forest in the middle was the home of the temple of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and sacred oaths.

On the west, and keeping vigilance over the road they traveled in, was the temple of Hermes the messenger of the gods and protector of travelers.

On the west and closest to the shore was a replica of the Parthenon, ancient temple to Athena goddess of justice, wisdom and war.

In the exact center of the land and separated by the river, that descended from the mountains feeding the majestic falls, stood two temples.

The temple of Zeus, king of the gods, master of the skies and thunder.

And the temple of Hera, queen of the gods, the mightiest of all the female goddesses.

In the middle of the lake, sitting proudly in an island was the temple of Poseidon, god of the seas.

And in the furthest corner to the Northwest, half hidden in shadows and close to what looked like vineyards, was the temple of Dionysus, god of wine, ecstasy and theater.

"You said there were twelve temples"- interrupted the young man gaining a glare as a response- "But I'm only counting ten. Were are the other two?"

"The other temples are close to the palace"- came the grumbled response- "They are the temples of Aphrodite goddess of love, and Ares god of war. Aphrodite's is close to the falls on the west, and Ares is on the east of them."- having said that the older man gave one last turn to the right and they came upon a clearing.

The palace was now in clear view.

The young man looked spellbound at the amazing feat of architecture.

The palace was built on top of a 32 mt high waterfall that bathed a pair of gigantic extended wings made of the purest crystal on the bottom (how they did not break with the punishment of the water was a mystery).

The only way to go up was a pair of stairs carved on the rock-face at each side of the fall, so they climbed out of the car and started to walk.

The entrance to both stairs was guarded by 10 mt high statues of warriors.

A woman on the west and a man on the east.

The woman was naked except for some rags covering her sex, and holding two short swords, her long hair as wild as the look of fierce determination on her young face.

The man on the east entrance was startlingly similar to the woman. He was using rags as she was and his hair was just as long and wild.

But his weapons were different.

On his right was a spear pointing at an unseen enemy, a shield protecting his body on his other hand.

Yet something about him disturbed the young visitor deeply; while the woman sported a look of fierce determination, his was of eagerness and challenge.

The look of battle-lust.

A feeling of foreboding washed over the young man and he raised a prayer to any listening god to prevent him from ever feel or look like that.

Halfway up the stairs took the visitors to the front of the last temples on the land.

On the east, the path lead to a neoclassical temple of dark marble and silver. An statue of Ares in full battle-armor claiming the place as his own.

On the west, a byzantine looking temple in pink marble and gold stood in all its brightness, an statue of Aphrodite biding a warm welcome to all its visitors.

From both temples two separate sets of stairs curled their way up to either the west or east wings of the palace.

Each of the wings stood on firm soil, while the center of the structure rested on an small island on the middle of the top of the waterfalls. One main bridge connected the two sides of the river and at the same time the central island that led to the main entrance of the building.

The palace was clearly of a neoclassical architectural style holding an strong resemblance with the Russian Ostankino Palace made in 1790; its frame was made in white marble and its foundation set on stone.

The overall effect was stunning.

But the old man gave his companion no time for contemplation and quickly climbed the short stairs to the main entrance.

The massive doors, richly decorated with gems and engraved with a pair of silver wings opened and a servant gave a quick greeting to the pair and led the way inside.

The interior was vast and open with gleaming columns here and there illuminated by the sunlight that streamed from the crystal dome and large windows.

Tick Persian rugs graced the floors and paintings of hunts, wars and celebrations decorated the places were the fresco's stopped on the walls.

Two main stairs at each side of the place lead to the upper floors and right in the middle, with two golden lions guarding it at each side was a set of crystal doors leading to the back garden.

But they did not go up the stairs or to the garden.

Instead they turned to the left and entered the east wing of the building and walked trough well lighted corridors richly decorated until they exited on a garden filled with sakura threes in bloom.

The only noise was that of the river, birds and the soft caressing wind.

As they approached the sounds of drums started to reach them.

To reach the heart of the young man trailing after his guide.

To reach deep inside his very soul and awakening the god that lived inside of him.

As the sound of the drums became stronger so did the blood in his veins race faster.

The beat became faster still and his heart speed up to match it.

The clashing of swords sailed to him on the wings of the wind.

His muscles tensed and flexed...

The sounds of flesh hitting flesh reverberated through the land.

His breathing became short pants and he started to pick up his pace as the god inside soared free...

The screams of battle echoed on the plains and with an answering battle-cry of his own the dark haired man broke through the clearing...

...into a total chaos of half naked men trying to defeat a golden haired boy that jumped, parried and attacked them with no difficulty at all.

Yet the intruder did not pay any attention to that odd phenomenon.

In fact, thoughts of any kind had deserted him in favor of the fevered blood-lust cursing trough his veins.

His first victim was Jonas Macmillan.

A tall, heavily built man of sandy blond hair and blue eyes who lived in California and had recently married its high school sweetheart. His bronzed arms and blinding smile a sharp contrast to his scrawny, pale faced brunette hubby Mark Tenner.

The intruder grabbed the bronzed sword arm of young Jonas and twisted sharply until the bones shattered wrenching the weapon and a pain filled scream from the victim, that was cut short when the attacker hit the California man in the face with so much strength that he dropped dead to the floor...

...blood tainting the rich soil red.

Yet the killer did not give it any thought.

His body moving faster still.

Eyes black and face snarling.

A predator free among its prey.

The second victim was Victor Malbec.

A man of thirty two years old who, not two days ago had held in its arms its first born boy, and cried softly when he saw the baby had the same eyes of its beloved grandmother.

The kind father had turned in time to see Jonas fall when suddenly the same dark man was upon him.

A sharp pain in its belly made the man look down and find a sword buried to the hilt there...

...blood flowing free and carrying its life with it.

The killer wrenched free his weapon, a look of dark pleasure distorting his handsome face, eyes lighting up on its next prey.

Daniachew Ferdinand saw death on those terrible dark eyes.

The black man's handsome face paled and the grip on his swords became slack.

The middle aged Ethiopian, devoted husband, father of eight children and grandfather of twenty two grandchildren distantly heard the polemarchos scream at them to get back.

But for him it was too late.

He parried once...

Twice...

And fell, chocking on its own life blood.

An image of its five years old adored granddaughter Desta keeping him company on the journey to the land of their ancestors.

The intruder did not see, hear or feel anything.

Darkness and blood-lust clouded his senses and tainted his very soul.

In front of him stood the leader of the men on the field. The rest had backed up and stood back, terror clear in their faces as they looked at the beast that had cut down the life of three strong warriors in less than fifteen seconds.

But now the polemarchos stood calm and strong in front of darkness made flesh.

He was a twenty two years old man, only 1,70 mt high, with the build of a runner. His tanned youthful face reflecting nothing; blue eyes cold and alert; shoulder length golden hair stirred softly by the wind.

Arthur Renald Hastings was the picture of an angel.

The angel that was going to save them all.

The killer stood tall and dwarfed the polemarchos.

They started to circle one another, until the dark man let loose a blood-curling battle-roar and jumped to the light one.

The swords clashed mightily and the sound echoed all around them.

One bloodied sword crossed against a clean one.

Legs spread, arms tensed showing their flexing muscles in stark relief, both men put their whole weight, strength and heart into forcing the other back.

Arthur saw a drop of blood journey its way down from the furrowed temple trough the arch of a perfectly proportioned nose and down still until it reached a pair of snarling lips.

The face of war was looking down at him in all its grotesque glory.

The momentary distraction was enough for his rival and the tall man pushed him away.

He stumbled and quickly ducked an oncoming swing while at the same time kicked out, knocking the other man down.

Arthur brought the pommel of his sword down on the prostrate man, but it rolled away and he received a kick on the face that had him rolling down and away.

Both stumbled to their feet and circled each other again.

Arthur knew he had to end this quickly or there would be more than three body-bags leaving the place.

This time he charged his enemy.

He brought his sword down to the left which was parried and left him open to a punch to the kidneys.

He was forced back two steps and his enemy gave him a feral smile before bringing its own sword down in a diagonal slash that Arthur parried away.

_He is playing with me!-_ thought Arthur with alarm before stepping back to avoid another blow and blocking again.

They traded blows and kicks, blocked and parried away only to circle again.

But while Arthur felt the strain his adversary was clearly not tired at all.

Words said long ago swam trough his memory.

A memory of a life gone.

_...he was seating in a beach among a group of fifteen years old boys with whom he shared all except the womb that birthed them._

_The Aegean sea spreading majestically around them._

_Up above in the sunny blue sky seagulls fought each other for the right of survival._

_He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply smelling and tasting the salt in the air._

_He looked up and saw the colossus form of their teacher: Aquerion of Sparta, son of Nestor; descendant from one of the 300 who alone stood against an empire._

_Aquerion was a tall man, heavily muscled with hair as white as his neatly trimmed beard. _

_The old man sported the scars of the proud spartan warrior that he was._

_A career that had ended with the man's right arm amputated._

"_If you are ever separated from the others- the booming voice of Aquerion resonated as the old man circled the boys who would be warriors- and find yourself confronted by an enemy who is bigger, stronger and faster, what will you do?"_

_Orestes, the youngest son of a noble Athenian family stood up and spoke._

"_We stand proud and fight to the death to honor with our blood our ancestors and Greece!"_

_A derisive snort sounded to (Arthur's) left and all turned to look at the best of the youth of the once glorious Sparta._

_Andreacus, son of Climene... _

_...and if the rumors where true, son of Ares the god of war._

_The dark haired boy rested lazily on the sand propped up on his muscled arms, his long legs stretched comfortably in front of him while he looked intensely at an angered Orestes._

"_If you have something to say then do it Andreacus!" - raged the red faced boy._

_(Arthur) looked amused as his brother in all but blood chuckled and said in an strong voice._

"_I was thinking Orestes, that you have exposed once again how utterly idiotic would be, to ever put you on any role but that of a follower" _

_At this Orestes clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, but Andreacus was not over yet._

_Standing up tall and proud, Andreacus pinned the other boy with a look that promised pain if he so much as breathed wrong._

"_Tell me dear Orestes" - he started to mock once again_

"_Do you think the enemy will stop his attack to give you time to 'standproud'**"-**said Andreacus while he started to move to Orestes, the others parting way for the god-like youngster..._

_The dark haired taller boy looked down at an enraged yet silent Orestes, so close were them to one another that (Arthur) knew they must be able to smell each others breath._

"_Or that you will be any good to Greece dead?" - finished the son of Climene in a voice laced with steel._

_Then the dark haired boy lifted Orestes chin with two fingers and asked him softly: "Is anger burning hotly enough in your veins?" _

"_Go to Tartarus!"- growled the Athenian while lifting his arm and trowing a punch at the other boy._

_But Andreacus had expected it, and before anyone could react he had his attacker trapped under him and chocking on the white sand._

"_Let this be a lesson you never forget Orestes!" - the dark haired boy said maliciously while shoving on the sand the face of his gasping attacker- "a man lost to his emotions is nothing but a rabid beast!"_

_With those words the dark young man released his victim and stood quickly up._

"_The victory will always go to the man who fights not only with his body but also with his mind..."_

The words had never left Arthur.

Those words were forged on his soul, as was the memory of the most important thing in the world for him.

_His brother._

Arthur parried another blow aimed to his head and retreated to make space...

_His teacher._

The dark man advanced and made an upward slash with his sword that Arthur sidestepped while giving a roundhouse kick and catching his attacker on the back...

_His strategos._

Mind over body.

"What is the problem beast?" - mocked Arthur while he avoided a new barrage of attacks-"are you going to kill me or bore me to death?"

The growl of the dark haired man became inhuman, and with an snarl lifted the sword and brought it down with such force that Arthur's arms trembled when he blocked it.

They stood face to face once again, their swords locked together...

"Once I kill you"- whispered Arthur softly to his enemy- "Ill go and fuck your silver haired harlot until she bleeds!"

The smaller man saw the darkness become thicker, feed by the overwhelming rage of its enemy who; with a blood curling scream threw its entire body weight in order to trow him off.

But this time Arthur had expected it.

Had planned on it.

So he quickly took one step back; making the enraged man plow ahead out of control.

And with a well placed strike of the pommel of his sword on the back of his attackers head, the polemarchos won the fight.

On the floor laid Andrew Alexander Darkwings unmoving...

...and alive.


	7. Chapter 7

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda.

**Disclaimer: **The devil Wears Prada (movie and book) is not mine i just play a little with some of its characters.

**A/N: **Warning! This chapter contains scenes of violence including a child, if that disturbs you please don't read.

As promised here is the chapter and only in one week! Hope you all like it!

_**CHAPTER 7:** **Screams in the Darkness**_

A small bronzed hand was gently applying a whet towel to the pale, clammy face of a young man who laid unconscious in the big and dark room.

With infinite genteelness, that same hand traced twin sculptured dark eyebrows, the proud elegant nose and a pair of delicate lips that were parted slightly in slumber.

Then the hand caressed the high cheekbones and strong jaw until it came to the small lovely ears, and finally stroking with its thumb the Adam's apple.

With his long dark hair spread over the white silk pillows the young man could easily be mistaken for an angel.

Yet, for all of the divine blood that ran through its veins, Andrew Alexander Darkwings was human...and mortal.

A lone tear trailed down the youthful face of the owner of the hand that kept its constant caress on the unsuspecting man prostrate on the bed.

"I'm so very sorry I had to hurt you my love" -whispered in grief the golden haired boy, before leaning down to bestow a love filled kiss on the clammy forehead of Alex.

With that, Arthur stood up and left the room and the man who made him who he was...

* * *

With long and powerful, yet oddly silent steps, Aris stalked the corridors of the silent Palace in search of the polemarchos.

Her long legs, encased in black jeans and high cut leather boots, covered distance at an alarming pace, while her long black trench coat billowed around her creating the only sound the woman of cat like eyes made.

She was pissed.

Today, three innocent men had been slain, their blood staining red the once green grass.

And the beast that had murdered them rested peacefully under the watchful eyes of their protector: the polemarchos.

Arthur had a lot to explain, and she was going to tear the answers from him one way or another.

At the start of the corridor that led to Arthur's office, two silent men in casual clothes stood guard and gave her a passing nod of acknowledgement as the sign of recognition that she had carved for herself in blood and tears during the years.

The office of the polemarchos was close to an empty room that had waited more than a decade for its rightful master.

The empty room was in the perfect centre of the palace, because if anyone dared to attack them that would be the most hard to reach place.

It was one, among many other examples, of the absence of their rightful leader: the strategos.

The head of the Darkwings family.

Aris gave a shake of her head to concentrate on the important matters and not to loose herself in things that were inconsequential.

_As if our strategos would resurrect himself form death! Honestly Aris!_

She walked a couple more of steps and stooped in front of a carved mahogany door, gave a confident knock and entered.

The room was big and decorated richly, yet the whole attention of the room was the huge painting of a distinguished dark haired man in his forties over a huge fireplace that blazed brightly in the darkness.

And gazing in silence at the art piece was the polemarchos.

"I don't remember inviting you in Aris." - he greeted in his soft melodious voice.

"I have more important things to be concerned with, than petty formalities polemarchos"

"And those would be what?" he answered without turning back, steel colouring his tone in warning.

"Three death men, and their killer resting peacefully even as their families wept in sorrow. Care to explain to me why that beast is alive?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you Aris. But I will tell you this: he is not to be harmed."

"Like hell that is Arthur! The bastard has to be killed! Honour demands it!" - she exclaimed overcome with rage and stalking close to the young man threatened - "And if you wont do it then I will!"

Not one millisecond after the last word left her mouth, Aris found herself slammed to the floor and Arthur's dagger pressing close against her throat.

His eyes were filled with hate as they gazed at her prostrated form, his handsome face a mask of fury made even more grotesque by the dancing light of the fireplace.

In the twenty two years that Aris had know him, her brother had never looked looked at her like that.

It was frightening beyond measure.

Aris fear escalated even more when Arthur whispered maliciously in her ear: "If you touch one single hair of his head ill make you scream for the calm of death"

* * *

_NEW YORK CITY, Miranda Priestly's town-house._

A bright yellow post-it note was attached to the tick book with a hand that _still _trembled.

Fury cursed through her veins at the visible show of weakness, and with an snarl she took the book and threw it across the room.

Ice queen's do not fear...and neither did Miranda Priestly.

Yet, this night she did.

Complete exhaustion melted her anger and closing her eyes as if in prayer she took calming breaths while a tear cursed a path down her right cheek.

She then seamed to collapse in her chair, and covering her face allowed the tears to fall.

But there was no escaping the terrible images that had awakened her in the middle of the night.

Anguish.

Fear.

Impotence.

Her body rigid as if prepared to fight or flee.

An scream of terror and pain trapped in her throat.

Trapped like her in the nightmare.

It had started with her in a cold, wet field, in a night with no rain or clouds, moon or stars... just darkness.

She was dressed in her nightgown, dark stains marring the white fabric and her body.

"Mud!"- she said with disgust- "I'm covered in mud!"- she growled while trying unsuccessfully to clean her hands in the nightgown.

Then the faint cry of a child resonated in the complete stillness of the night.

Startled and concerned for the welfare of the child, she had started to walk in the direction of the only sound there seamed to be.

A little girl of no more than five years old, naked and covered in the strange mud was curled up crying disconsolately.

Miranda, fearing scaring her, knelt close by and slowly lifted her hand to pat the small head of long dark hair.

Before she could reach her, the child lifted her head and looked at the editor.

Dark brown eyes, bright in tears...

Pale cheeks stained in mud...

Miranda's heart contracted painfully and an small sob broke free.

Her childhood friend Alex had come back after more than forty year's of absence.

Alex, the bright brown eyed girl who had played with her in dreams...

Alex, whose long hair was of rich chocolate brown and soft as silk...

Alex, of the most beautiful smiles, warm tender hugs and innocent kisses...

Alex, the little girl that had saved her very soul from the nightmare that was her life...

The little girl that had given her the name she had used for thirty six years.

That girl, with face twisted by anguish, cried out to her.

"I didn't do it!"

Miranda crawled closer, desperately needing to comfort her.

Alex flinched and crawled backwards, Miranda's presence seemingly frightening her.

"I didn't! I didn't!" - she screamed frantically while trying to get away from the older woman.

Then Miranda's hand felt something odd...

Something mixed with the mud and she looked down.

Right into the terror contorted face of a dead young boy of no more than fourteen years old.

"Oh my God!" - she had screamed in fright, while stepping backwards and off his body, her foot slipping in the wet soil and bringing her down, the screams of Alex getting more frantic.

And that's when she really saw the nightmarish scene for the first time.

Bodies.

The field was littered with corpses covered in what seamed mud in the night; but there was no mud...

Only blood.

Blood everywhere.

"I didn't!"- screamed Alex strongly and Miranda looked back at her again.

Only to see a mass of darkness enveloping her childhood friend and lifting the small body right in front of her.

_Save her! - _shouted her heart, and she tried to stood only to fall back again and again.

Then the screams failed, and Alex made a chocking sound.

The editor looked back up again and saw a long blooded blade coming out from the throat of the small child.

Miranda screamed.

Alex lifted her small thin arms as if trying to reach her while the older woman fell to the knees... the fight leaving her.

Then the light that had always lived in Alex's eyes left them, and she fell dead to the ground.

The darkness took the form of a tall naked and blooded dark eyed man.

A man she had saw before.

A man to whom she owned her life.

She reached the bleeding dead girl and turned her around, only to see Andrea Sachs dead face, with an expression of infinite anguish looking back at her.

He laughed. A terrible, cold, dead laugh.

Miranda screamed...


	8. Chapter 8: Revelations

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda.

**Disclaimer: **The devil Wears Prada (movie and book) is not mine I just play a little with some of its characters. :D

_**CHAPTER 8:** Revelations._

_

* * *

_

Pain...

Screams...

Blood...

...and Darkness.

Darkness everywhere.

He felt it inside himself.

Crawling, scratching, tearing and devouring his very core like a parasite.

Like a beast feasting in his waning light.

His soul was torn and rendered.

His heart bleeding itself to death, like the innocents he had slain.

He could still feel their blood in his hands and face...

Smell their fear, hate and despair...

Taste the metallic tang of the precious liquid on his tongue...

See their life ebbing away on their eyes.

All because of his weakness.

He had tried so very hard to stop the beast but had failed.

He had fought, threatened, screamed and beg for the madness to stop; but the beast was unrelenting, merciless and...hungry.

The hunger of the thing had rendered him a prisoner on his own body.

An spectator for the macabre dance of death brought fort with his own hands...

Now he laid in a tight ball somewhere.

Naked and cold.

Terrified by the darkness inside and outside of him.

Too disgusted and weak to do anything else but laid there and cry silently.

Afraid, alone and defeated.

Too lost in his despair, Alex did not hear the healing song weaving its healing spell on his rendered soul.

Nor did he feel the slender fingers treading trough his long hair.

Then the shadows started to disperse and their veil to lift from his blind eyes.

A light was approaching.

One strong enough to free his mangled soul from the claws of the beast.

So strong was it, that he cried out in pain from its brightness and tried to escape.

Arms grasped his flailing hands and trapped him.

Scared and defenceless he cried out once again, begging the light to leave him die in peace.

But there was no mercy for him.

Like a burning sun, he felt the thing from which the light came coming closer, clasping on his neck a necklace that burned his flesh.

He screamed in pain and fear, yet was once ignored.

Soft, small hands cupped his face with care and the most tender of voices spoke to him.

"Come back my child. Don't let him take you..."

"I'm here for you. I will not let you get lost."

"Look at me!"

The order in that voice was impossible to ignore, too compelling and powerful.

He could see, from the void were his soul was trapped, an slender pale hand as bright as a sun grasping his own...

...and with a genteel tug Alex was finally free.

Inside, in its own cage made of light, the beast roared.

He opened his eyes and saw a miracle holding him.

Eyes made of pure light locked with his own.

Two images floated in front of him, so close he could feel the warmth and love that wove around his aching heart.

One was a mortal woman of dark, spiked-short hair, tanned face and youthful face.

The other, was like a ghost that floated around the woman, sometimes disappearing or taking her place.

This ghost was the miracle.

The goddess of light that had saved him form the beast.

She had long, curled, white-blond hair, as bright as the sun, moon and stars.

Her perfume was warm and seaming to summon that of all the flowers from the earth at the same time, making him pant for her divine scent.

Her skin was pale, exuding a holy brightness. As warm as summer skies and loving embraces. Soothing away his fears and pain, making his own skin shiver for her touch.

Her lips were a pale rose, filling him with longing and desire for their taste.

She had on a robe of gold, bright as the sun, dipping low and granting his greedy eyes a generous look of her lovely pale breasts. Necklaces and earrings of flowers adorned her pale throat and small ears, making him hunger almost in madness for her taste.

He lifted his lustful eyes to her own and saw the light of her love, beauty and desire looking back at him.

Then her divine light brightened them even more and caressing his face the goddess spoke once again to him.

"Welcome home my child"

Spoke Aphrodite and with a gentle kiss on his forehead she drove away the remaining darkness from his heart and soul.

* * *

Alex sat exhausted and calm in the sofa on the spacious study of Arthur as the man sipped his milk on the chair in front of him.

He turned almost imperceptibly to his right for the thousand time that night to confirm, once again, that Oriana, priestess of Aphrodite, was there beside him.

Her warm brown eyes brightened in an smile and she gave his big hand a soft squeeze to reassure him of her presence.

"Do you feel well enough for our conversation? Or do you need more rest Alex?" - asked Arthur in his soft voice startling him.

"I'm fine." - he replied in a voice that was still rough from screams, fear and sorrow.

Concern flashed on Arthur's blue eyes for a moment, but before he could utter a sound of protest the priestess gave a shake her head on the negative and that was that.

Breathing deeply in surrender, Arthur pierced Alex with a solemn look.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Is this some sort of joke or are you going to ask me esoteric questions now?"- replied Alex somewhat sarcastic.

"Answer the question please"- spoke the golden young man in a voice that gave nothing away.

Alex frowned in a mix of confusion and exasperation, before giving the smaller man what he asked.

"I'm Andrew Alexander Sachs, the manly form of Andrea Alexandra Sachs. Daughter of Helen Sachs and George Sachs..."

"No"- cut Andrew calm.

"You are not a Sachs, you are a Darkwings. The head of the Darkwings family. Son and daughter of Helen Hastings, heir of Alexis Daniel Darkwings. Ruler and strategos of the Darkwings multiple corporations spread worldwide and the most powerful human being on earth."

"Are you delusional! Of course I am a Sachs, Darkwings is only a forged name! Not to mention that if I was the most powerful human on earth I would had known!"- exclaimed the dark haired man as he stood to denied the things Arthur was saying. A light tug on his hands had him sitting again and expectant for even more bull to come from the other man.

Arthur stood as well and walked to the mini bar to fix an strong drink, as the words floated in the air and altered Alex even more. Then he turned and walked purposely to Alex and gave him the glass, ordering silently to him to drink.

The strong whiskey burned a path down Alex throat as he chocked it down.

"Let me please explain Alex. I promise I'm not trying to lie or confuse you even more." - Asked Arthur softly as he retook his place on the chair again.

"Thousands of years ago, a powerful city by the name of Sparta gave birth to a man by the name of Andreacus.

He was the most exceptional warrior that the world had saw in a long time.

Unfortunately for Greece he was born too late to save her from Rome.

One of the reasons for his many talents and gifts was the fact that he was the last living son of the god Ares.

In one of the last battles for the freedom of Greece, Andreacus fell fatally wounded and to save him from his fate Ares made a deal.

This deal made with the Moire and Aphrodite, gave Andreacus new life, transforming him in a woman and a vessel for Ares.

A vessel with all the power and darkness of the god of war; a puppet which the god used to bring war, death and destruction to humankind.

From that day, the curse was passed on in this family, and each new vessel was named Darkwings.

The Darkwings that Aphrodite gifted to the vessels and heirs to save them from Ares.

This family grew more and more powerful as the centuries passed, until we became so powerful that one word or action from us can raise or fell entire empires.

The head of our family is the vessel, the strategos: title gave to the leader of the Spartan armies of old and that we use to denote the rank of our family members.

Our last leader was Alexis Daniel Darkwings, also know as Alexia Danielle Darkwings, our grandfather.

Now you have awakened as it was foretold by Alexis, and I, the polemarchos or second in command am here to answer all you questions and teach you what your position implies.

As for why all this was not told to you before, I can only say that it was a decision of your mother to turn away from our family and hide this from you, the reasons known only to her."

Arthur looked down for a moment, brow furrowed in deep contemplation before he rose once again, walking to stand in front of the fireplace with his back to his spellbound spectators.

Alex for his part was shaken to his very core.

Nothing could prepare him for this.

It was as if his entire existence was nothing but a lie.

Arthur threw the glass to the fire, shattering the silence as it broke in a million pieces.

"We'll start the training for your new position tomorrow. It is imperative that you remain here to avoid more episodes as the one from this morning, as a precautions the drums of war would remain silent to not arouse the god again.

The necklace Oriana gave you is a gift of the goddess Aphrodite and serves as a shield that will give you more time and not be overwhelmed by the god of war.

As of this moment, the race to save you and the world from Ares and his darkness begins."

* * *

Author Notes: OK people! Here we will start the main story. From here its going to be a bumpy ride so I hope I have not yet bored you to tears, and if I did why for the love of the gods are you still there? Joking heheh

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I hope to see you soon ! Bye! ;D

PS:Review! My muse is a hungry little beast!


	9. Chapter 9: Trouble

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda.

**Disclaimer: **The devil Wears Prada (movie and book) is not mine I just play a little with some of its characters. :D

**Warning: **There is a little bit of** v**iolence in this chapter, so if that is not to your liking please don't read. Bye!

_**CHAPTER 9:**__ Trouble_

* * *

_THREE MONTSHS AFTER THE EVENTS OF CHAPTER EIGHT..._

"Emily" - came the low voice from inside the pristine office known by many as the dragon lair.

Yet there was no sound of a chair being moved or fast feet clacking their way inside; only silence.

"Emily!" - Miranda Priestly called once more in a slightly higher tone, yet several degrees colder.

Nothing happened.

Her brow furrowed and cold blue eyes reached subzero temperatures...

Pursing her lips, the editor of the most powerful fashion magazine in the world, and the reason for its success, quickly stood and marched to see why her summons went unanswered.

The other office was empty.

_The girl is going to be fired! - _thought an enraged Miranda.

A phone ring broke the silence and Miranda's sour mood got even worse as she strode to do the job that her worthless assistant should have been doing.

The sound of heavy footsteps sounded close by and a pale faced Nigel Kippling stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the editor at the phone.

"Miranda, we have problem."

* * *

Emily Charlton, first and (since the morning) only assistant to the indisputable fashion queen, Miranda Priestly; cursed for the thousand time the stupid cow that had gotten herself fired and complicated her day in ways that had never been seen before.

If she had not been fired, Emily would be manning the phones, and not bleeding from a wound in her head from a butt of a pistol colliding with her temple in the once pristine white floor of the new Versache studio.

"I said SHUT UP!" -screamed an hysterical masked man as he pressed the point of his gun to the head of a crying assistant of Donatella Versache; who was sobbing and begging on the phone to one of her family members to pay the men what they wanted;the phone yanked out of her hands by the thug close to her soon after.

Emily had counted four of them.

One close to the front doors.

One beating the assistant and keeping an eye on the rest of them.

One close to Donatella and one more, supposed to be at the back door, who had not appeared in the last five minutes she realized.

No sooner had the thought crossed her head that a shoot rang out, followed by an spray of blood, grey mater and the body of the one that had been screaming.

The body fell right beside a shocked Emily, the back of his head a gaping mess, and then another shoot was heard and the criminal standing beside Donatella fell dead as well.

Reacting quickly Emily tried to move for cover but was instead lifted by her hair and used as a shield for the last thug.

"Get the hell out or ill kill her! I swear to fucking God that she is dead! GET OUT YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" - he screamed hysterical wavering the gun wildly in front of them, the other hostages quickly moving behind the furniture for protection.

"Why should I get out?" -said an amused male voice calmly.

"Just so you could blow me a new hole?"- he finished and laughed heartily when the criminal shoot where he thought the voice came.

"I'll kill the bitch!" -threatened the thug in blind panic, the tip of the smoking cannon pressed firmly to the redhead temple and burning her flesh.

"Kill her then!" -coldly exclaimed the would be saviour- "And die with her as well!"- he finished with a cold laugh.

Enraged, the criminal started to sputter a series of curses and in his agitation moved more to the right while letting loose three more shoots.

His body suddenly jerked back, blood smattering the right side of Emily Charlton, and both attacker and victim dropped to the floor.

The English woman managed to disentangle her body from the slack hold from the now silent assailant and looked around in a daze.

That's when she saw a young man with long luscious black hair, impeccably dressed in black leather pants, silver tipped black biker boots and silk shirt holding at his side a silver gun and directing at her a bright amused smile.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever saw.

He knelt in front of her, piercing black eyes focusing all their power in hers, and lifted a warm left hand to her open wound, his index finger smearing with her blood.

"You really know how to get one's attention don't you Emily?" -he asked her calmly in a warm voice as he took the blood smeared finger to his mouth and licked it.

Then the police burst through the door and chaos swept through the place, and he stood and looked down at her as if she was a weak animal and he the hunter.

Emily Charlton had finally found Miranda's saviour, and her own now as well.

* * *

"And you just killed him?"- the police officer asked incredulous, a note of anger starting to colour his face and voice- "just walked up to him and broke his neck?" - he snapped his fingers- "Just like that?"- he ended up in a raised voice.

Officer Carmichael looked through the glass at the young man sitting calmly with a mocking smile plastered in his handsome face; and could not believe that he had, not even three hours before, walked out from a hostage situation...

...and killed four men in cold blood.

A movement from the other occupant in the dark room had him shifting his attention from the interrogation to his childhood friend, homicide detective Carlos Andres Guzman.

Guzman was frowning, a bead of sweat falling from his temple, his grey eyes so intent in the suspect that Carmichael feared he may burn a hole in the glass of the interrogation room.

"He is trouble" -came the barely intelligibly low baritone from the detective.

"What?" -Carmichael asked his friend.

"Andrew Alexander Darkwings is trouble." -answered Guzman in a strong steeled voice, absolute certainty colouring his words.

A knock in the door, and first attorney Shauna Marie Sloan entered the room, a thunderous expression marring her pretty chocolate face.

"We have a problem"- she said as a greeting.

"What?" - repeated for the second time that day, dread colouring his question now.

"We have to let Darkwings go." -she answered while crossing her arms and glaring at the young man sitting as a king in the interrogation room, the enraged red-faced officer in charge of the interrogation being restrained by two guards as he screamed at the calm amused suspect.

Guzman turned his eyes back to Darkwings and said to the two occupants in the room with him:

"Trouble with a capital T"

* * *

The soft sound of music drifted in the darkness of the impressive loft.

A haunting female voice singing with passion of someone lost in darkness.

Incredible appropriate at the moment tough judge Marcus Daniel Hastings, uncle of Andrea Alexandra Sachs. Darkwings now, he corrected himself, while looking at the young man she had become.

He was standing in front of the opened glass doors of the balcony, white curtains dancing in the wind, and dressed in only an opened black silk robe, completely naked under it. His silhouette illuminated by the moon, looking down over the sprawling city of New York like a king over his kingdom.

The poetic thought was in fact not very far from the truth.

The Darkwings were easily the most powerful, rich and influential family in the United States, and the old man suspected the entire world as well...

…and the young man standing almost naked and drinking a glass of blood red whine, was their leader.

What had happened today was only a little proof of the extent of that power.

He had killed four men, and less than four hours and a single phone call latter was free, his records as clean as a child's; and they would remain clean no matter what happened or what he'll do later.

Because Marcus knew today had been only the beginning, the young man's violent temper was just starting to show its face.

"What you did today can't happen again Andy" -the judge said in a stern voice.

"You have to learn to have more self control or the family's name could be stained"

"Alex" -the young man said in a calm voice, never turning back to look at the judge.

"What?" -asked Marcus in confusion.

"My name is Alex. Or Alexander in your case." -answered in dark amusement the young man, a slight menace starting to colour his voice.

"Never Andy!"-said in an steal voice, the threat now ringing clear.

"Not while I'm like this..." he finished in a whisper to himself.

"Whatever boy! I'm not here to discuss names, but to tell you to stop making messes like today!" -raged the old man.

"Is that an order?" -Alex questioned in a menacing voice while turning to see his guest.

Marcus took an steep back, fear starting to course through his veins...

"Ca-Call it what you want!" - intoned the judge in a suddenly choked up voice.

A hand closed around the old man's neck, crushing his windpipe and lifting his more than 180 pounds from the floor to then slam him against the wall.

The terrible face of Alex was inches from the judge's own, when his young voice said again:

"A threat then."

* * *

In a building across the street a female voice resonated in the shadows of an empty apartment.

"Call everybody, we have problems"


	10. The rise and fall of queens and kings

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda.

**Disclaimer: **The devil Wears Prada (movie and book) is not mine I just play a little with some of its characters. :D

**A/N: **Sorry to all my loyal readers that have been with me from the beginning for the time it took me to update. I wonder how many of you are still reading this? Welcome to the new readers as well :P

Also it was kind of weird yet neat when I saw a mention of it on dwp livejournal. So thank you mitchet3! :D

And last I want to say that this was one of the chapters I enjoyed the most to write. You'll see why..

**Chapter 10:** The fall and rise of queens and kings.

Irvine Ravitz, chairman of Elias-Clarke Publishing empire, smiled inwardly as he saw the reactions to his words in the faces of the men and women that made the board of partners.

The bitch was going down. He could taste victory already.

_No list is going to save you now!- _he tough to himself.

He had found the solution by changing the books. A great risk, but worth it.

With a solemn air Irvine got to his feet, ready to say the words that he had dreamed of saying for more than twenty years.

"Miranda, the proofs against you are overwhelming. Therefore we are forced to fire you and start..."

The sound of clapping was heard in the entrance of the conference room, right behind Ravitz, who turned around furious to the already fired fool that had dared to intrude in his moment of glory.

Reclining against the door frame, with a sarcastic smile adorning his handsome face and black eyes piercing the chairman's own was a young dark haired man. The youth was dressed in a black tailored power suit, a black vest picturing artistically made tigers and dragons in golden treads covering his starched white shirt, a red silk tie and Salvatore Ferragamo shoes completing the ensemble.

Miranda's heart started to pound in a mix of fear and another unknown feeling.

"Who are you! How did you get here?" snarled enraged the chairman.

The youths smile became predatory as he stalked closer, and circled around Irvine like a wolf.

Ravitz and the rest of the men in the room, observed a silent Miranda, started to get nervous...

"I strongly advise you Irvy."- said mockingly the intruder while he continued to pace around the chairman- "Can I Call you Irvy?"

"Someone call security!"- screamed Irvine at the other members of the board.

The young man ignored Ravitz screams all along...

"To change the way you address me!" -finished the young man. His voice booming across the room, eyes flashing dangerously at the now pale Chairman.

The unexpected thundering voice and the power behind it, leaving no doubt at the idiocy of contradict him.

Irv; scared to death, stumbled backwards away from the incoming storm in the onyx like eyes of the stranger.

The man at Miranda's left started to squirm in his chair, beads of sweat beginning to fall steadily from his bald head and meaty hands twitching constantly.

A frown marred the perfect face of the elegant, silent queen of fashion as she observed, completely mystified, as every man in the room trembled in terror; the room reeking of fear.

_What in gods name is happening here!-_ Miranda asked herself as she surveyed the room once more. Her eyes narrowing when they fell in the imposing figure of the intruder...

...who advanced like a predator, mocking smile firmly in place, to were Irv stood frozen.

"Move"- he ordered to the little troll.

Irv remained in place, trapped there by what looked like terror.

"I said...MOVE!"- growled the young man in Irvin's face, making the old man jump to a vacant chair to the left of his own.

The rest of the people in the conference room started to leave their place in order to flee.

Miranda remained in her place, bored expression firmly attached to her face, as she observed and waited like a royal cobra ready to strike in a moment if threatened.

"Everyone sit down this very moment" -ordered coldly the handsome youth without breaking eye contact with a cowering Irv.

Then he walked to the chair at the head of the long table, opposite Miranda's own -_Irv's chair –_ she noted with sadistic glee, and settled down on it...a charming smile blossoming in his face as he locked hypnotising intense black eyes with her.

"I wont repeat myself"- he voiced in a steel laced voice, black eyes not giving her a moment's rest.

The scraps of chairs being occupied once again filled the room.

"My name is Andrew Alexander Darkwings"- he started in a patient tone, smile widening at the looks of astonishment mixed with a new kind of fear that painted the faces of the people around him.

Miranda was barely able to maintain her stoic countenance at the astounding news.

Darkwings was an old revered name. One used only by the head of the most powerful family on the world.

The last person to use it had died decades ago, leaving with its absence a void of power all around the globe.

A void that had been quickly filled with power hungry men and women like Irvine Ravitz and Miranda herself.

_And now the king returns to take back his kingdom- _she mused silently as her mind raced with how to make this a window of opportunity to save her place as Runaway Editor In Chief.

"As you all _should_ know _I_ am the owner of seventy percent of Elias Clark Corporation"- a predatory smile graced the handsome face of the young man at the gasps of those who had indeed not know or had chosen to forget.

Narrowing his eyes at one of the oldest of Irv's accolades, Darkwings said in a cold, razor-sharp voice - "And I am curious as to why I was not informed of this meeting."

"Irvy? Do you have an explanation for me?" he asked, turning to a pale Irvine Ravitz and pining him in place with steel dark eyes.

"I...I d-didn't thought you'll be interested in it" -stuttered the chairman while readjusting his tie.

"Really?"- he spat,wrapping that one word with as much sarcasm as only Miranda herself was able to do it.

"Let me see if I get this straight" -the young man said as he rested his chin in his crossed hands, the famous black signet ring of his powerful family glinting in his right middle finger and catching the stares of more than one member of the board.

"You thought I wouldn't be interested in a meeting were all of you planned to fire Miranda Priestly?"

Irv started to fidget in his chair...

"Miranda Priestly, who is the editor in chief of Runaway Magazine, the number one magazine of fashion, not only here but in the entire world?"

Beads of sweat rolled from Irvine's forehead and Miranda felt that sadistic glee from earlier grow brighter in her belly...

"Miranda Priestly, who is the sole reason for that success and has made Elias Clarke rich for more than twenty years?"

"B-but the books!" -Irv stuttered like the pathetic coward he was.

"Oh Yes!" - Exclaimed with fake excitement the young man-"The Books! How could I forget?"- he finished with a shark-like smile directed at the terrified chairman while taking out his cellphone and making a call.

"Bring him in!"- he ordered on the phone, no trace of any kind of smile present now.

The conference doors opened instantly and four men entered.

_This is a trap!- _thought a gleeful Miranda as she saw her nemesis pale even further.

The first person to enter was an attractive young man (almost a boy, Miranda noted), slim and not very tall, of shoulder length blond hair and piercing blue eyes, dressed in a charcoal Calvin Klein business suit and shaved face looking like that of an angel.

After him came three more men; two of them huge twins, bald and using ugly unfashionable black suits, the words thugs all but tattooed on their foreheads. Between them came, or more acutely was dragged, an older man in a badly wrinkled coffee coloured Armani suit.

Darkwings got up and approached the youngest of the four new arrivals, who inclined its head in deference to him.

"Arthur"- saluted Darkwings, never breaking its stride while the young man moved to the side to let their leader clear access to the pale man they had escorted there.

Stopping in front of the older man between the twins, Darkwings fixed him with a laser-sharp look and turned to the side so the members of the board could look at the obviously reluctant guest.

"Tell them"- came the calm order; and for one hour,the prisoner Jude Martinson head of the administrative department did just that.

Martinson explained how he had been approached two years ago by Irvine Ravitz in one of the company parties.

How Irv, furious at his humiliation in Paris, had asked him to a meeting the next day in which the chairman offered Martinson a lot of money if he would just change the books and making it look like it was Miranda stealing money from the company.

Money that ended up in both their pockets as bonus.

He confessed everything.

When he was done Darkwings nodded silently to Arthur and the four men left in silence.

Miranda did not make any effort to restrain the triumphant smile adorning her face.

Darkwings walked to the head of the table and looked at a sitting Irv, before pronouncing the words that Miranda had waited for decades.

"You are fired, effective immediately. I give you ten minutes to leave my building. If you take longer, stop anywhere, take anything, or say one word to anyone ill know, and crush you like a bug."

Just like that, Irvine Ravitz career and quest for power crumbled to the ground.

But the Darkwings were feared for their complete and utter vengeful natures, and young Andrew Alexander Darkwings was not the exception to the rule.

Before any of the people present could process all it had happened Darkwings turned on them and gave them his ultimatum.

"I'm giving all of you, excluding Ms. Priestly, to the end of this week to contact the person or person's responsible for the handling of your share of actions of Elias Clarke Corporation and arranging to sell them to me."

Outrageous exclamations brook across the room, and at a particular enraged -_you cant do that!- _that escaped one of the older men present, Darkwings narrowed his eyes and snarled enraged.

"I can do whatever the hell I want!"- he proclaimed slamming his hands on the table and making everyone jump.

"For more than twenty years you have all allowed Ravitz to wage war in the woman responsible for the rise to power of this company! Ravitz did what he wanted and all of you did big fat nothing to stop the abuse or replace him!" - snarled the furious young man, his voice thundering all over the room.

"As a consequence Elias Clarke almost lost its best asset in a time when the world's economy is falling apart and companies going to bankruptcy daily! So you can all go on and follow Ravitz out of _MY_ company!"-finished the man in fury making everyone, but Miranda, cower.

"This meeting is over." -he said coldly.

When no one moved he glared, lifted his left arm and pointed to the exit-"GO!"- he barked, and this time they all started to quickly gather their things to escape.

Before the door was opened, his calm voice resonated once more on the now silent conference room.

"If any of you ever whisper one word said in this room to anyone anywhere, ill know..."- he lifted his eyes and pierced Miranda's own blue orbs- " ...and ill destroy you and your family's lives. I swear it on my own soul."

Miranda could swear he was swearing in her name; the realization stirred something dangerous in her very own soul.

No one doubted the terrible oath.

The members listened in shock, and more afraid than they had ever been in their lives they left.

Once the room was empty except for the two of them, he flashed a bright smile to her and almost purred his next words...

"Would you grace me with your company at lunch? I have yet to visit my cousin's new restaurant and I cant think of a more beautiful and gracious companion than you Ms. Priestly."

Miranda fought a treacherous blush at the soft, heartfelt words; as she held his piercing dark eyes. An almost insane intensity contained in them that the editor could feel to the marrow of her very bones.

But...

_He laughed. A terrible, cold, dead laugh._

But that cold laughter that haunted her dreams made his attention something to fear...

_The blood and the screams of a tortured child._

Something to be disgusted by...

_The cold, dead body of Andrea Sachs._

Something to hate.

"Is it a request or an order?"- Miranda asked in what she hoped was a controlled voice.

A dark shadow crossed his eyes.

Eyes that seamed as powerful and lacking of light as a black hole.

Then the shadow lifted and his proud shoulders dropped.

He lowered his eyes as if in shame, defeat bleeding out from his very core, and Miranda felt terrible for having hurt him; while she asked herself how could she wield such power over the young man.

Then she saw him square his shoulders and when his gaze locked with hers once again the most extraordinary thing happened.

His cold, dark eyes changed to a warm chocolate brown that dispersed her fear, disgust and hate to replace them with aching tenderness, lust and something else...

Something that Miranda did not want to look at to closely, but was most certainly not hate.

He gave her a warm yet pained smile, and said in the gentlest voice that had ever been directed at her.

"Then as a thank you?"

His soft spoken question threw her for a loop and she asked somewhat confused.

"A thank you?"

"You know..."- he started while lifting an eyebrow

"For saving your life?"- and he flashed her his most brilliant smile, mischievousness flashing in his warm brown eyes.

Blood rushed to her cheeks and Miranda Priestly flushed for the first time in fifteen years.

"Y-yes of course"

And stuttered for the first time in forty.

That was how the ice queen of fashion found herself escorted to lunch by the dark king of the world.

A/N: Ok people there it is! Ahh Irvy bashing is great for the soul! Hahahah

There is going to be one more character who is going to get its just deserts in the future.

Hope you'll liked it. Bye!


	11. Chapter 11: Of devils and mating habits

**Love and War**

**Pairing: **Andrea/Various, Andrea/Miranda.

**Disclaimer: **The Devil Wears Prada (movie and book) is not mine I just play a little with some of its characters. :D

**A/N: **First I will like to say I am sorry for the delay. My only excuse is that I simply felt no inspiration to continue (I blame Skyrim and harry potter fanfictions, lol).

Second, I am very pleased and touched by the reviews, alerts, etc.

You guys are the best!

Third I will like to point that both Andy and Miranda (especially) are very AU. So please have that in mind.

Fourth, say thanks to the marvellous Adele, whose music gave me the inspiration to finally write an update ha ha

Enjoy!

**Chapter 11: **Of devils and mating habits...Lunch of Doom.

* * *

The cool night breeze was refreshing as it caressed his face and danced in his long dark hair.

Alex closed his eyes and lifted his face to the shining moon painting his skin in its glow and making him look as a mythical dark god.

He was reclining against his cooling black and chrome Honda DN-01 crossover bike, and dressed almost entirely in black leather.

In his chest, hung the only piece of jewellery he was using besides the signet ring that marked him as the head of the Darkwings.

It was a delicate pair of extended dark wings, like that of a dove, one overlapping the other, made of an unknown shiny black metal.

A gift from the goddess Aphrodite.

Patron of his clan and the one light who gave them hope.

Hope for a world without wars.

Hope for a life without the overwhelming darkness that threatened to devour their souls.

Hope for love.

He opened his eyes and looked at the expanse of never-ending green fields of British countryside moving softly on the breeze.

He had felt the need for peace, to escape the demands of this new position as the leader of the Darkwings, and to reflect on his meeting with Miranda.

A bright smile adorned his handsome face once again, remembering the time together with the fashionista.

* * *

_He had escorted her trough the whispering offices of Elias Clarke. Noting, with not little concern, her obvious discomfort at his presence and how she flinched away from him every time he came a little too close for her comfort. But Alex stubbornness prevailed, and flinching or not, he had took the elevator with her._

_It had been the most excruciating ten minutes of his/her life._

_Once in the ground floor, Miranda flipped on her cellphone, no doubt to call Roy (her long suffering driver), but he had stooped her by delicately taking her small soft hand in his much larger one._

_-"Well take my car"- he whispered lovingly in her right ear letting his warm breath wash over the delicious pink shell making her shiver and pull away from him._

_Trying unsuccessfully not to be disturbed by her rejection, Alex walked to the front of the building were a shiny black GT3 Porsche was parked._

_He opened the car door and she slid right in with an almost imperceptible nod of her regal head as an acknowledgement. Rolling his eyes at Miranda's attitude he got inside and drove to the restaurant._

_After a turn was taken with a little more speed than necessary, the older woman abandoned her perusal of the world trough the window to shift her entire attention to him. _

_-"If you do not lower the speed all your hard work to save me will be worthless, and the reason for this impromptus lunch null._

_Without lowering the speed, Alex shifted all his attention to her, flashed his most mischievous smile and responded - "As you wish my lady!"- and never breaking eye contact with her made a sharp turn to the right applying the breaks and making a spectacular 360° turn, leaving them neatly parked between two cars._

_Then, neatly sliding out of his car, he opened her door and leaned in close to a wide eyed Miranda, the smile never leaving his face as he extended his hand saying - "You coming Miranda?"_

_Arranging her somewhat askew sunglasses, the fashionista climbed out ignoring his helping hand, and power-walked to the restaurant not even once looking back._

_Alex, chuckling softly to himself, followed after his silver headed goddess, wondering how big of a mess he had gotten himself into._

_Once inside, Miranda was nowhere to be seen, but her victim's sported the appropriate gob-smacked looks and fear filled eyes of those who had received the Miranda patented glacial stare of doom._

_Proudness filled his chest, and he thought: _

_you may take the girl out of the wild..._

_Alerted to some disturbance to his right, he finished the accurate phrase in his head._

…_.but will never take the wild out of the girl._

_Incredible amused, Alex watched the panic-stricken face of the poor soul that had the temerity of trying to stop the force of nature known as Miranda Priestly._

_He stood, arms crossed, and watched delighted how the regal woman tear to pieces all of the overinflated ego of the receptionist, making him pale and quiver like a battered puppy._

_Once, when he had been out of the country, Alex had the displeasure of speaking with the arrogant prick while trying to contact his cousin._

_He was flatly and rudely denied._

_If Alex had been in the country that time he would have gladly come to the restaurant to wring his scrawny little neck._

_Alas, it had not been possible; but now he was glad things had turned this way._

_Nothing was better than look at Miranda at her fiercest, eyes blazing in cold fury, nostrils flaring delicately and voice a deathly murmur. _

_She was magnificent!_

_He wished for a camera...and maybe popcorn._

_-"How the mighty have fallen" - he chuckled softly to himself._

_-"Hello Amelia! Beautiful evening is it not?"- he greeted out-loud, turning to the woman approaching his left side._

_She was tall, in her middle thirties, wearing a scarlet traditional Chinese dress with golden trimmings and a fantastic tiger clawing his way up from the bottom and stopping shy of her hips. Her long tick black hair was held up by a pair of gold hairpins, leaving her long neck bare and showing off masterfully crafted amethyst earrings._

_Yet, it was her eyes that gave her sinfully sensual features that ultimate exotic touch. They were almost the exact same colour as the gems gracing he ears._

_The colour of a storm- he thought._

_Incredible appropriate for the proud, headstrong, passionate woman that was Amelia Elizabeth Sachs._

_-"Hello Alexander"- she rasped, ignoring his wince at the use of his full name.- "Are you going to stop her any time soon? Or stand there with a smile wile she continues to tear to pieces my staff?_

_-"I thought I told you I wanted him gone"- he growled, a warning clear in his voice._

_-"And I told you that I will do what I damn well want in my own restaurant!" - she declared with finality and turned to see him better._

_-"Is there something on my face Amelia?" - he purred softly returning her stare with a lascivious look. At her blush, he chuckled deeply and reflected, that had him not been taken and branded by Miranda (and the healthy fear of a certain crazy blonde pixie cousin in law, who would come after his manhood if he tried anything) he would not be adverse in some quality time with his cousin._

_The brunette smirked, and looked him up and down, before turning and marching over to rescue her employee._

_-"Keep dreaming Alexander"- she whispered in passing, gaining a loud laugh from him that scared shitless the people nearby. _

_Once the situation was resolved and they were seated, Alex tried unsuccessfully not to stare at the silver haired woman seated in front of him, while wreaking his mind for a way to start courting her...er speak with her._

_Yet, the overwhelming silence stubbornly prevailed._

_This will not do! - he concluded. Indecision still plaguing his mind._

_Then, the soft cold tones of his lunch companion interrupted his inner monologue and took Alex out of his misery..._

_-"Was there something you wanted mister Darkwings? Or was the sole purpose of this lunch, which you coerced me to attend might I add, to stare at me with a most pathetic impersonation of a dying bass fish. That was rude and uncouth the first ten seconds I had to endure it, and has not improved my mood in the now fifteen minutes that has already flown by._

_...or not- Alex thought, wincing at her words and almost swearing she had frosted his face, that cold were her tone of voice._

_He looked down at his cooling medium-rare prime steak praying for illumination or the floor to open and swallow him up. Whatever came first._

_When the mutinous slab of meat remained mute, he closed his eyes and took a fortifying breath of air. _

_When trapped between a wall and a hard place... -he thought wile lifting his eyes to hers. _

_...you tear down the motherfucking wall!- screamed the warrior that lived in his soul._

_-"Yes"- Alex said firmly, all traces of doubt gone._

_-"Yes what?" - Miranda asked, trying for bored nonchalance to hide her confusion._

_-"I know what I want"- came his steel laced response._

_- "And that is what? I do not have all day!"_

_Alex calmly put down his silverware, moved his plate to the side, and put his arms (and heart) on the table._

_- "You."- he stated simply_

_Miranda blinked startled, but he was not done..._

_- "In my bed..."- he purred lustily in his deep voice._

_Alex saw the regal woman shiver and her pupils dilating._

_- "At my side" - his voice became stronger._

_He saw her swallow, her cheeks stained a faint red, and breathing faster. _

_-"Forever"_

_Not waiting for a response, and impossible full of himself, Alex rearranged his lunch setting and proceeded to enjoy the delicious meal._

_Miranda never said anything else, besides the chocked goodbye at the end of their first date. _

_He even managed to kiss her soft rose tinted cheek with only a weak squeak as a token protest._

_There would most definitely be more lunch's in their future._

* * *

-"That arrogant git!- came the shout, followed not a second after by a flying bound like book. A glossy cover proudly stating RUNAWAY, under which an emaciated yet exquisitely dressed read headed woman was giving the viewer a salacious look.

The thunderous form of a regal looking older woman, crowned with a silver mane that shone lustrous even after arduous hours of work, paced the stylish office in her lavish house, while cursing to all hell in a heavy British voice.

Which only served to enrage even more...

_The bastard has made me loose my mind to the point I am reverting to British slang!_

-"Bloody Hell!- she cursed once more furiously throwing her discarded Manolo Blaniks and hunting in her purse for the cigarettes that she had confiscated from her useless second assistant.

She took the cancer stick in nervous shaking hands, still cursing like a seasoned sailor under her breath, and after three quick exhales started to feel a modicum of control.

_Not like I have much of that after this disastrous lunch._

_The arrogant bastard had taken that and made her feel like a fifteen year old girl with her first crush._

She finished the cigarette and promptly lit another one, sat herself in the recliner, closed her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to massage the headache away.

_I lost in less than ten minutes the control that took me more than thirty years to master._

Miranda was aware than in this world, and especially in the present game of cat and mouse in which she was an unwilling participant, she very much needed control.

It was vital for survival since it was vastly clear that she was the mouse in question.

He was more powerful than her. In fact she was certain that Elias Clark was nothing but a passing entertainment for him, so vast were his holdings and influence worldwide.

_Which he was not at all shy to prove today with his little show._

And now she was the only one with stock in the company.

_A trapped bloody mouse indeed!_

And this particular cat had the uncanny ability to make her blush, stammer and confound her senses to the point of letting her mute!

Her! The fabled dragon lady! The woman that with two quite words could, and did, reduce grown men to tears!

Miranda had always prised herself on her steeled control and ability to have any men she wanted on its knees. Make them beg for a modicum of her time and cry in need for her.

They were nothing more than mice and she the lioness that played with them on her free time.

Cruel but true.

But now she was the little mice and he the lion.

He made her stammer with his deep seductive voice...

Blush with a heated look...

And loose her mind with his brilliant smile.

Irresistible in every way possible. Too beautiful to describe in words.

_Far too beautiful to be normal I wager!_

Miranda was aware that he was more than meet the eye. His entire aura distilled power and sex in frightening measures. His ability to completely control people around him was nothing short of amazing, and she was a master in reading and controlling those around her.

Yet he eluded her hold and submitted her to his will far too easily...

_Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. _(*)

The lunch was proof of this.

Alexander had boldly stated his decision of pursing, capturing and bound her to him.

And in answer she had remain mute in shock at his rudeness (and sheer boldness), which he had taken advantage to steal a kiss.

The rest of the lunch was spent in silence with him looking at her with a scorching heat that left a permanent blush on her cheeks.

It was far too dangerous the control he had on her.

For the first time in her adult life she was flying blind and someone else had the reins of her destiny...and maybe even her heart as well.

* * *

**A/N: **Finally done! And good riddance too!

_A: are ideas or memories._

(*) Shakespearian quote by the character of Marcellus. Hamlet Act 1, scene 4, 87-91. If any of you don't know Shakespeare or Hamlet please don't ask me! Go and read it immediately! In fact, read ALL of Shakespeare works. You'll be a richer human being after doing so.


	12. NO MORE UPDATES UNTIL THE PURGE ENDS

The administrators, as of June 4th, are going to be taking down Fics that have lemons or have extreme violence. Now I don't know about you but I think thats stupid. There are many wonderful fics that only have one or two lemons in them yet the plot itself is awesome! You can't just take down a 100,000 word fic just because it has a lemon in a chapter that is only 1000 words long. Now I urge you all to read the petition below, sign it, and repost this to your own fics. Hopefully if we make enough noise everything will return to normal. Thank you.

Greetings to the fine folk that moderate our site.

Myself, along with many, have been writing and posting on your fine site for years now, some of the better examples of up and coming writers out there are now suddenly finding some of the stories we've come to love at risk of being removed without the chance to even rectify our errors.

For some, that means the permanent loss of a story. While I don't have anything that I believe violates your terms of use, there are those out there that are never able to recover a story in its original form, this is something I find to be almost worthy of a legal action, as while we cannot claim ownership of a character, the stories are OURS and simply destroying them is something that is inexcusable.

It's quite easy to simply add an MA rating, additional filters or even a simple requirement for a free membership to read the stories presented here, and would cut down on hateful anonymous reviews and posts at the same time, so I have to question as to why such a thing, in all this time, simply wasn't added.

If you're worried about falsification of a registration then have an appropriate disclaimer and then there can be no dispute, you took your steps and the PARENTS didn't monitor their children, if that is even your concern. If it is more of a personal view or desire then please at least let people know and give them a chance to remove a story that you and yours find offensive, most people on the site are actually rather cordial when it comes to such requests.

While I cannot say for sure if this letter will even reach those that may be willing to listen, of if it's more akin to a wide spectrum purge in preparation for something bigger, please understand that you are going to be looseing a LARGE number of your writers, and thus your income from a lack of readers if there is not some level of action taken to help with this situation.

For those that may agree with this, please feel free to sign on and send this to the support server, maybe we can get some movement on this.

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